


One More Bow, Da Pabačennia

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, More along the lines of history, Taking a trip through the history of Belarus from Natalya's perspective, strays from canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2490593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd spent far too long convincing herself that all he'd done for her was for her good. She'd spent far too long letting herself think this was love. One more time, i jana pakinula.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

In the beginning there was not much. It was cold—she remembered this clearly. She was cold and she was alone; she was not scared. Natalya Arlovskaya was not one to feel fear so easily after all. Recalling back on it all, the Representative of Belarus could not recall exactly when she met Toris Laurinaitis but she did know that she spent much of her time following at the tail of his cloak through snow or slush or muck or forest. She even remembered spending embarrassing amounts of time finger combing his blood matted hair after battles against other young and confused Representatives of the time. She distinctly remembered trying to understand the tongues he spoke and the way he walked and the way he swung his sword so easily into and through others. They were children. They were all children fighting under the command of grown men, but for a single reason.  
They wanted to live.  
But at what cost, Natalya had asked herself repeatedly even back then in those days. At what cost were they living? Were they even truly living? Toris often spoke with kind soft words to her when she questioned him bluntly on why.  
“Because, Natalya—If we do not fight we will not win and if we do not win we will die. I am protecting you now, do you understand? Feliks and I are protecting you until you can learn to protect yourself.” The words still clung to her thoughts like stench on the coat of a mutt dog. It was as if no matter how many times she tried to forget those words she just could not shake them. So as the story goes, she could remember it all. Her childhood was not one of tragedy as she saw it; it was one of survival.

The air was borderline frigid on tender skin, threatening a painful never-ending frostbite upon the child currently hiding still in the hollow underneath an unforgiving boulder and nestled into the frozen ground. The sound of footsteps crunching on the snow was a terrifying noise to the little girl dressed in rags. Natalya was still young at this time. Too young. Young enough that a single blow from the frightening Mongol man drenched in the blood of countless other small ones he had slain on his path of terror would surely kill and her and kill her for good. Swallowing dryly, the little Baltic-Slav didn’t dare to breathe as she waited patiently for the man trying to hunt her down to make his leave and assume her dead of natural causes.  
She didn’t recall exactly how she got into this situation until she was out of it. She had been separated from the older girl claiming to be her new big sister—Katyusha was her name. She claimed that they were sisters because Natalya was now a part of the Kievan Rus’. Natalya did not understand. She was not even sure who she was—all she knew was that her name was Natalya Arlovskaya and Toris took care of her. He taught her how to wield a dagger and how to walk on the ice correctly so she wouldn’t fall through and best of all he had taught her how to hide and be discreet; this was a skill that she now had to trust her life to.  
As a set of boots stamped past the opening of her hidey-hole the little blonde had to fight back the urge to take the small little knife she had in her hand and drive it into the Mongol’s heel. Self-control was stronger than temptation in the end, but panic still reigned supreme as the feet stood there several long minutes pacing back and forth in front of the entrance of Natalya’s hiding spot. Finally, after many agonizing minutes of anxiety, he left. As he left, he stained the snow red in his wake.  
Crawling out of the secret spot was the hardest part. Natalya knew the second she crawled out she would need to run and she needed to run fast. Before she was seen, before she saw, and before her stomach flipped and emptied itself at the stench of chilled carnage. She did not know where it was she was going but she did know if she ran far enough perhaps she might collapse of exhaustion and die like any child of her time. Alone and curled up in the soft snow as if she had simply taken a nap while looking for her family.  
Her family. The thought of going back to Katyusha, who cried every time she was frustrated with the bumbling band of children she was stringing along into slaughter like ducks to a fox’s den, was infuriating. Sure, the older girl could hold a sword like a warrior and kept most of them in line under the allegiance of the Kievan Rus’ but she was still a kid herself. She was useless to Natalya unlike the other Kievan Rus’ aligned Representative. She called herself the Red Rus’ and she was older even than Katyusha. Strangely, it seemed only Natalya could see her most of the time. Sometimes others would set eyes upon her before growing confused, blinking, and looking away as if they had not seen anything.  
So now, where was she to go? Red Rus’ was nowhere to be found, and she refused to return to Katyusha. The only thing left to do was keep going and hope to the Gods and Goddesses that the bloodied Mongol man wouldn’t pop out of nowhere like a ghastly ghoul and slay her where she stood. The slim glimmer of lighted hope of finding Toris was not so plausible. She had long since lost track of Toris and Feliks since the Kievan Rus’ had taken her from the two boys. Last she had heard, Toris had found his ‘divine purpose of existence’ and was working with the so called ‘pagan king’ Mindaugas to unite the tribes that he lived with to strengthen the since blossoming Kingdom of Lithuania. It all made absolutely no sense.  
Natalya often heard stories of people much like them that lived far far away in lands to the west. People who were called empires; they built grand structures of erected stone and made water flow uphill and even some claims that they were the one and only ‘True Immortals’. As the small world was finding out, even gods could die. Hearing of the fall of a man named ‘Romulus’ and his twin brother ‘Remus’ Natalya could barely comprehend why the other side of their world was in such disarray. People died. It was how things went. Was it so weird for them, the ones who stood with mortal wounds as humans perish, to die? There had to be a way that they could be killed…  
These were the thoughts running through Natalya’s mind as she found herself unexpectedly slamming into someone. Limbs went every which way as Natalya braced herself to attack whoever she had inadvertently tackled to the ground. Instead, the young girl found herself face to face with dusty dull dark blonde hair and scared violet eyes with tears frozen in them. And the blood—it seemed to be everywhere. The sound of an almost recognizable language made the already chilled girl shiver with indescribable emotions. Who in the world was this? Unbeknownst to her at the time, Natalya Arlovskaya had run right into the boy who would grow up to freeze the world over and strike fear with an iron hammer into the hearts of millions. Natalya Arlovskaya had just met her future brother—Ivan Braginsky.  
If one could argue it was love at first sight, they would. But in reality the second Natalya had gathered her wits about her she had pulled herself off the starving boy with blackened half dead fingers and a sort of permafrost in his hair, she had ran again. Of course she did not forget him. She could never forget the look in his eyes as he stared up at her with that knife in her hands. It was a look of terror and it would not be the last time such a strong fear would be directed towards her.  
Sunset s and sunrises melted together, day after day, and soon the days became weeks and the weeks months, and the months years; years became decades and centuries. Starvation and deep freezes and drowning and animals attacks could not keep the little girl with the ragged bow in her torn up hair down—and finally Natalya found something to devote herself to. After many years of running from the Mongol man who terrorized the aligned territories of Kievan Rus’ until only few remained under the care of Katyusha, the little girl in rags found herself at the tail of the cloak she so dutifully followed all those years ago.  
Once more the warm smile Natalya found the only vague sense of comfort she’d ever had in was directed upon her like a beam of the dawning sun and she was with Toris once more. He was stronger. He was so much stronger now, and as was she in many ways. He had said that with her help he could be even stronger and he could protect her from the Mongol invaders that threatened the Kievan Rus’. All he needed was for her to trust him and to help him in battle as she had when they were younger. Vivid thoughts of warm clothing and companionship and consistent meals and places to sleep had reinforced the answer on the tip of Natalya’s small wily tongue. Yes.  
All the horrors of the Kievan Rus’ and the reality of who they were and what they’d become started to fade away slowly. The strange God Katyusha had told all of the children to start worshiping and the even stranger kings who expanded farther and farther and stretched out across the lands only to be bashed by attacks from the bloody Mongol man once more; surely as they were replaced by things that Natalya had been so desensitized to as a very young child that she dared not even bat an eyelash at it as it came her way now. When the former Baltic State of Old Prussia reappeared as the Order of Saint Maria, also known as the Teutonic Knights, it was unknown exactly what the newly Germanized Christian warrior state would do. As the Order advanced steadily towards the Kingdom of Lithuania, Toris went into frenzy for land and power—Katyusha and Feliks were brought into the Duchy at this point as well; when the first attack hit, a shock wave was sent rippling through the waters.  
Natalya remembered distinctly watching strike after strike of the sword upon sword when Toris and newly Baptized Gilbert Beilschmidt fought. She remembered spending many hours on end after the fierce battles simply sticking needle and thread through torn skin as Katyusha watched over her work. Duly noted was that the young woman no longer wept quite so hard and was less prone to vomiting at the sight of blood now. Instead she now carefully led Natalya’s hand to perform a clean stitch for Toris’ wounds as he gently ran his bloodied fingers through her blonde hair, streaking it with the ruddy liquid which Katyusha would wash out thoroughly later in the evening.  
The times that were spent in the house of the Lithuanian Duchy were a comforting sort of normality in a life that had since been a confusing and hectic scatter of rulers born and killed and lands captured and liberated and kingdoms rising. Natalya was almost stubborn to admit she wished that those days had lasted at least a little longer.  
Those times of discovering who she was and what she was, not only as a faux deity of the mortal world but as a human-bodied being. She found herself growing and attracting attentions she didn’t know existed until that time. Her body changed slowly but surely and her cute and innocent appearance steadily changed into the elegantly beautiful and cold one she managed to maintain for millennia later. It wasn’t until the day Toris called upon her and took her hand and kissed her knuckles and looked her in the eye and told her he loved her that Natalya Arlovskaya truly got a taste of what it meant to be one with the Lithuanian Duchy as she was.  
Natalya Arlovskaya was not one to feel fear so easily, and in that moment she was terrified.


	2. A Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't that Natalya had hated the kiss and it wasn't that she hated Toris; she was confused and she was vaguely frightened by the boy holding onto her right now. The way he refused to let go of her even as she tried to wrench away. It was like it wasn't even Toris who was doing this but just some man who looked like him-- yet it was. It was Toris and that was the most frightening thing.

Natalya stared at Toris with a mixture of vague fear and morbid curiosity drawn over her delicate features. Her dark grey-blue eyes were widened and searching Toris for some kind of confirmation that this was indeed actually happening. His head was bowed, his lips currently softly pressed against the Belarusian girl's knuckles as he held her fingers in his own hand. Natalya struggled to put thoughts together; it seemed that what the Lithuanian boy before her had just said succeeded in scrambling her brain to Hell and back.  
"What." It wasn't even put as a question. It was a sort of shaken demand for Toris to repeat himself as Natalya sat staring at the crown of his head. It was then that he looked up at her, dusty green gaze still filled with that warmth that the blonde haired girl had always found such comfort in. Now it made her want to wretch. A smile played out across the brunet's lips as he clasped his other hand over the girl's and laughed airily. It was if he found her cute. It infuriated Natalya that Toris was suddenly treating her like this. He'd always been the man the others looked at strangely. He treated women with proper respect that they deserved and he asked them how they felt about thing. Now he was being just as thick-skulled as the rest of them.  
"Natalya, I love you... I wanted to wait until the right moment to tell you, and now with the Duchy as strong as ever, I thought it was the perfect time. We're both still young and a bit dumb-- it just seemed like it was something that you needed to know." He still spoke in the same soft voice, albeit it was slightly choked up with emotion, and his smile was filled with the same dawn light that had kept Natalya's own darkness at bay for all these years. Yet, it wasn't the same. The blonde tugged at her hand in an attempt to wrench it from Toris' grip but to no avail. Although it was obvious he felt her resistance to his grip Toris only bowed his head once more, this time planting a more passionate kiss to Natalya's wrist.  
"Let go of me..." Voice unsure and faint, Natalya didn't sound at all convincing. Her usually sharp tongue seemed to have gone slack in her mouth like a slug and her throat felt dry. She was becoming hyper aware of her surrounding in this moment. There was a draft pouring in from nowhere on the left side of the room from a spot near the ceiling, the fire was stocked too high and was burning the floor rub nearby it, there was a family of mice currently nesting in the east wall, Toris was getting up, her heart was beating abnormally fast, and now Toris was getting closer to her.  
Natalya was brought back to an abrupt reality as she felt Toris' lips meet her own. This was a kiss? It was her first kiss. At first Natalya wasn't sure how to react. What does she do? She had never had to deal with something like this. Sure men had come to her and stroked her hair and called her beautiful, tried to grasp her hand, and the occasional drunkard had made vulgar grabs for her still developing body; Toris had always been the one to deflect these things. Look at him now. The way he was curling his arm around her waist and threading his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck. She could feel his breath on her face as he lips parted open slightly against her own-- and it was too much.  
The Belarusian raised a curled fist and beat it against Toris' chest insistently while shoving him away. Although she had grown strong mentally and in presence, Toris was still physically stronger than her. All she succeeded in doing was getting him to stop and look at her. When he did so Natalya saw his face was flushed, the firelight casting dark shadows over his face, and he still had that horrible, beautiful, smile on his face.  
"I lo--"  
"I heard you the first two times." The sudden hurt and bewilderment on the older boy's face sent a small pang of pain straight through Natalya's chest.  
"Nata..." With some kind of twist logic trying to piece together the puzzle, Toris made a vain attempt to kiss Natalya again. This time she turned her face away from him and stared at the fire currently blazing in the fireplace.  
"Stop it. Lithuania, let go." The refusal to call Toris by name only seemed to upset the boy more and he forced Natalya to look it roughly. The anguish on his face almost hurt more than the hand currently steering her head by her hair. All the same it made Natalya panic slightly. She started to move back, pushing Toris the opposite direction as she did so. It did little but allow her to move far enough back until her legs hit the back of a desk and Toris captured her in another kiss. This one wasn't sweet or gentle as the first one. It hurt her lips and Toris' body pressing against her own made her uncomfortable and put too much pressure on the spot where her legs met the table edge.  
Hand groping out awkwardly in a backwards motion on the surface of the desk, Natalya's hand closed on a piece of metal Toris often used to break wax seals of letters with. Fumbling slightly as she lifted it, Natalya did something she never thought she would have to do-- she stabbed Toris. The brown hair boy made an angry pained noise as he drew back away from Natalya, green eyes filled with shock. They locked onto equally shocked blue eyes as Natalya's small pink lips moved wordlessly and curled downward in a dismayed expression. It was at this time Natalya firmly managed to shove Toris away, sending him onto the ground in his unsettled state. Unsure of what else to do as she saw Toris struggling to reach back and rip the metal piece out which was currently embedded in his back, Natalya did the only thing that could come to mind. She lifted her dress skirts up and she dashed off, grabbing a heavy winter coat as she did so. Out of the room, through the halls, past Katyusha as she emerged from the kitchen with Feliks by her side, and into the gently falling snow outside.  
The Belarusian could already hear Toris shouting her name, the call getting steadily closer and closer as she stared out at the white world. This all seemed too achingly familiar. Looking back over her shoulder at the warm home Natalya caught sight of a panicked looking Toris turning a corner, bloodied hand catching him as he stumbled against the opposite wall. She said nothing to him as he gasped out for her to come back; instead, she turned back to the land before her and she put her best slipper clad foot forward and she did what she felt was the best thing to do at the time. She ran.  
It wasn't that long until Natalya's slippers were useless in the snow and she kicked them off, letting her small bare feet freeze to a frighteningly real shade of blue. She knew Toris was following after her. He always did, after all. Just once she wished he wasn't. Just once she wished that he would leave her be. It wasn't that Natalya had hated the kiss and it wasn't that she hated Toris; she was confused and she was vaguely frightened by the boy who had been holding her so tightly. The way he had refused to let go of her even as she tried to wrench away. It was like it wasn't even Toris who was doing this but just some man who looked like him-- yet it was. It was Toris and that was the most frightening thing. It had already been dark when Natalya had ran, the moonlight being the only thing to light her way. As she ran she passed by and through specters of the lost who had perished in this area either recently or long ago. The girl paid them no heed as she continue running. She didn't stop, for she knew that the second she stopped Toris would be upon her. He was very clearly following her tracks in the fresh snow. She knew he was. That didn't stop her from carrying on. Although the futility of it all was starting to weigh on her, Natalya dared not stop. Although she soon found even with not stopping, she couldn't seem to get away. It wasn't long until Natalya was quite alarmingly pounced upon roughly from behind, sending her tumbling into the snow face first. "Natalya! What is the matter with you?! You can't just go running off into the cold like this-- Get up, get up." What was this? Natalya felt like crying, screaming, hitting Toris upside the head. This wasn't fair. Of course, she had acted upon impulse-- what did he expect her to do? Sit there and let him assault her in his study? The snow crusted blonde crawled several paces away before she felt Toris grab her waist and try to yank her up off the ground. She gave in at this point, rag-dolling as Toris attempted to maneuver her . The hateful look she was giving him hurt, but he knew well enough that she had every right to be angry with him. He understood what he had done wrong, but he couldn't find it in himself to apologize yet. Not while she still couldn't forgive him for it. Instead, the Lithuanian pushed the snow crusted coat off of her shoulder and reached down to rip the soaking wet hem of her dress off before opening his own coat and nudging her gently. Natalya resisted the nudge into Toris' coat at first. She knew what he would do. He'd pick her up and have her wrap her legs around his waist as to keep her feet out of the snow and he'd carry her back as if none of this had happened. But it did and it would be different, in a way. She knew this and so she refused when Toris tried to coax her to lift her legs up. Luckily for the both of them, the brunet didn't push it any further and instead sighed softly into the frigid night air and closed his coat around the two of them before leading the still violently shivering Natalya back home. No words were exchanged between the two, and Natalya seemed almost repulsed at having to touch Toris at the time being. She knew she was being childish, which only angered her more. But she WAS a child. She was many many decades old and yet still her body was only just starting to age and it was all new and strange. Now here was Toris, the boy she'd known her whole life-- he taught her how to live-- and he was doing these things and was acting strangely. She had just wanted to get _away_ from it. After arriving back home, Natalya promptly ripped away from Toris and made her way to her room with her chin up and her eyes watering slightly despite the crushing determination she had not to cry. Even as she slammed her door and threw herself onto her bed, the tears had started to fall. So she sat there and she cried, even if she hated it, because Natalya Arlovskaya was only a young girl and she had never been more confused in her life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, isn't it just sorta strange? I actually had most of this chapter typed up and ready to be posted before my thing crashed and then refreshed and I lost all my hard work-- Eugh... Had to rewrite ALL of it and it just isn't going to be as good the second time around...  
> Hopefully you all enjoyed this chapter! (Hopefully...) You know those crazy kids and their "feelings" ohohohoho...


	3. The Boy From the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was never a moment more frightening than when the boy from the snow sudden reentered Natalya's life seemingly out of nowhere. She could never guessed the consequences of not running him through when they were still small.

It had been many years since the time that a freshly budding Natalya had faced her first trial of young adulthood, and tensions had boiled over and lead to angry words and confused tears and eventually soothing apologies and soft touches. Time marched on and Katyusha left the Duchy of her own free will to go back and live in her own lands that had not been claimed by the Lithuanian-Polish union. Once more the young Belarusian was left with the two men she had grown up with, albeit things were very much different than the last time the three had been a trio. In these gentler times where Natalya had found a sort of inner and outer peace, and her relationship with Toris was back to being natural and beautiful and pure of heart, another relationship was budding. She found herself joining Feliks more as he did chores and doted over the house and occasionally even joined in with him as he poked at their Lithuanian duchy-mate.  
Over the days, the months, the years, and the decades, Natalya learned the way he spoke and the way he walked the way he dressed and even got to know a little deeper than just that. She understood now why even back when they were younger he would have given her the colder shoulder and turned to Toris. It was just because he had been shy. He was still young and hadn't met many people other than Toris much less a girl of any sort-- He just hadn't known how to actually talk to the then young Natalya that was accompanying him and his friend. Now, well, the two got along kindly enough. They played the occasional prank together, washed the dishes together, and Feliks even sometimes convinced Toris to let Natalya join them in the battle planning. Feliks was alive and he was free and he was stronger than Natalya could have originally guessed--maybe even more so than he himself realized, and when her time with him was brought to an abrupt stop it was almost impossible for her to believe.  
The meeting had seemed too fast to be truly happening. Almost surreal in nature. Natalya stood by Feliks and Toris silently, her hair drawn back in a braid that the other blond nation had done for her before they'd arrived. He had said that she needed to look her best even if they were expecting the worst. Lips pressed tightly together and eyes sharp as flint, Natalya inspected the four men standing on the other side of the Baltic-Slav union. The Representatives of Austria, Roderich Edelstein, was a plummy looking man with an effeminate quality to him that made him seem borderline fragile with his pristine aristocrat air and powdered face. A concentrated frigidness betrayed this fragile illusion. His dark brown hair was swept back away from his face, a single strand sticking up, and his violet eyes were half-lidded in disinterest. A pair of glasses sat low on his long nose and a frown was drawn over his thin lips. To his left, a tanned young man with a faux smile plastered over his face was holding himself tightly as if he might be wound up to spring on someone. Natalya did not know much about Western Europe but it was hard not to know who this particular boy was. The curly auburn hair and narrowed amber eyes were a dead give away. He was the Son of Romulus; rather grandson as he claimed. Most simply called him Veneziano, but Natalya had quickly learned that his name was Feliciano. Standing near Feliciano and casting red hued daggers to Roderich was the fearsome Order of Saint Maria. His name was Gilbert Beilschmidt, as she already knew, and by some awful chance of fate he had adopted the name Prussia. As if to rub salt in the wound of the Baltics over the loss of Old Prussia.  
Gilbert was a strange looking man. He donned the clothes of a saint but it was clear to see he still wore chain-mail and armor. A sword was at his side as they spoke. His dusty white hair sat over pale skin, the look of it like bleached bone, and deep-set eyes peered out at the world in a startling bright red that seemed to chill every person in the room. The man's very presence was something that set Natalya's teeth on edge. She had spent much time fixing up the wounds he had inflicted upon her friends-- no, her _family_. Although it seemed now that he was distracted by the Italian underling and his glowering and bleedingly obvious anger towards Roderich. There was one last man in the room, and he was standing front and center in deep blue cloth adorned with jewels and silver and a red sash. An intricate crown sat upon dull blonde locks and the smile on his face made Natalya's stomach flip each time she looked at it.  
That was the boy. The boy she had found in the snow all those years ago. She had spent so much time wrapped up on her dreamland of happiness and warmth that she had neglected to look past her own nose and realize the reality of it all. That trembling child from the winter's depths had grown. He had grown faster even than Toris, or Feliks. He had grown, and he had given himself a crown. Ivan Braginsky, the Representative of Russia, was a man that Natalya knew she should be weary of. But was this not the same man who Katyusha had called their brother? That she had tried so desperately to keep warm and to convince him to stop crying every time he broken the necks of the rabbits he'd tried to befriend and keep as pets? The one who had taken such cold joy in breaking the ice under other's feet even if they were his own people? The one with the frozen tears in his eyes that held such fear in them at one time? It was borderline impossible to believe.  
Yet here he was. A serene yet spine-chilling smile was upon his face, pale purple eyes narrowed in contempt as he eye'd the three other Nations intensely. Raising one gloved hand, he pointed lazily to both Feliks and then slowly to Natalya. His eyes were locked on Toris' the entire time. The Belarusian girl could feel Toris bristling as he moved in front of her, shoulders set squarely as he tried to give a silent 'no'. In the meantime, Feliks reached out desperately to grasp a hand--anyone's hand-- and ended up taking a hold of Natalya's and giving it an almost painful squeeze that popped her knuckles before releasing her and slowly walking over to the three men. The smile on Ivan's face widened as he saw the obvious anger and hatred flowing off of Toris. Yet Natalya knew. She could feel Toris' fear as well. She set her hand on his arm, murmuring softly to him in her own native tongue. There was no need to worry. That everything would be alright. If she went with him that she could keep an eye on Feliks. She would be back sooner or later. Toris, still remaining silent, didn't need to even look at Natalya for her to understand the answer was no.  
A falter in the never-changing look on Ivan's face almost sent Natalya jumping out of her skin. His smile changed to an annoyed snarl and his brow dipped down in frustration as Toris still refused to hand Natalya over. Feliks was now being gripped a bit too firmly by the arm by Gilbert, who was grinning wickedly down at him as if this was nothing. Suddenly, Ivan gave a deep throaty whine and came striding over at Toris. It was at this point Natalya noted the height difference between the two. Even as Ivan towered over Toris, the brunet didn't even flinch but looked up at Ivan with the same fiery determination. It was then that Ivan simply grabbed Toris by the throat and tossed him aside like a doll. An audible gasp escaped Natalya's mouth as she watched the Lithuanian land roughly on the floor and cough. A hand grabbed her right by the braid and _yanked_ , successfully dragging her over to the other side of the room as Toris stayed on the floor. Natalya dared not to make a noise or even raise a protest as she felt hair being ripped from her scalp, and instead let herself be strung along. When Ivan finally released her, his expression was back to normal, or as normal as it could get, and he turned her around to face him as he leaned down to her level.  
"Privet , sestrenka. Hello, Belarus." This was the first time Natalya would have heard her own country name. Toris and Feliks had never called her by it, and as far as Natalya had ever cared she was simply Natalya Arlovskaya of the White Rus'. Now... Now she had a name all of a sudden. She was the Representative of Belarus.  
This meeting was a turning point in Natalya's life and although she found her people were enjoying their newly revitalized sense of self, enjoying the identification of being one of Belarus, Natalya ended up more miserable than ever in the house of Imperial Russia. Once more she was with Katyusha and now with this man--the boy from the snow-- in a home too grand, a house too splendid, and a life too rich to be real. Even with these treasures and splendor, the house was cold. There was little love in those walls, and Natalya feared every day for Feliks as much as she could. It was not too long after the Belarusian had grown accustomed to the days in and days out that the 'lessons' began. She had never wished more that she had ended the boy in the snow when she had had the chance as she did then. Never in her life had Natalya wanted so badly to attack. Yet slowly, over time, it all started to melt away.  
The 'classroom' was only a small room separated from the others where Natalya was currently being made to sleep. No windows were there, only artificial light that was barely bright enough to account for the darkness it had to illuminate. A cot with a single mat over the dinky wooden frame and a blanket was shoved into the corner and a wooden desk with a small chair was moved to the center of the room. Sitting in the chair was Natalya Arlovskaya. Or, as Ivan insisted, Natalya Braginskaya. Her eyes, deadened in the darkness and mostly unseeing, were trained down to the surface of the desk as she stared absently at nothing. Standing opposite of her was Ivan, in his usual royal attire, with that same smile on his face and an almost preternatural light in his eyes that seemed to be emitting from within his irises themselves. "Say it once more, with feeling, sestrenka. Я из России." The words made the younger girl shiver in disgust as she slowly moved her gaze up to meet Ivan's, a deadly snarly drawn across her features as she grunted back a response.  
"Я з Беларусі." The deathly hollow reply seemed to only amuse Ivan for a moment before he raised his hand and struck Natalya across the face sharply enough to split her cheek open. Even as Natalya was trying to blink away the star in her eyes from the rough slap, Ivan grabbed her by her choppily cut short blonde hair and yanked her head back before bringing her face down into the wood of the table hard enough to splinter the surface. A sickening crack noise sounded from Natalya's face connecting with the wood as it was revealed that her nose had most likely been broken and was now spewing blood over her mouth as well. A garbled curse was spit into Ivan's face along with bloodied saliva as Natalya gasped for oxygen and tried to ignore the throbbing pain in her face.  
"Вы ничего не стоит маленькая девочка! Say it again. Say once more where you are from." This was threat enough as Natalya gave another bitter hate filled curse to Ivan and dug her dull blunt nails into the tabletop stubbornly. The grip on her hair tightened as Ivan grabbed her chin and pulled. The sound of hair ripping and Natalya's jaw popping out of place would be heard by no-one else on Earth. With a choked sob of pain, Natalya went limp in Ivan's hands. After several more tugs on her hair, the Russian Nation seemed to grow bored at her lack of responsiveness and left her be; he circled Natalya several times before finally leaving. The time was 11 o' clock. He did not return at 12.  
Several days later, on the strike of 4, Ivan returned back to the room with a tray of warm home-made food and a soft feather-down pillow as well as a dress. It was dark blue with tight sleeves and a waist ribbon. A set of stockings and bows were also present with it. A large book was stuffed under his arm. As he had arrived, Natalya fled to the corner and under the desk currently pushed there. There was no light present in the room until Ivan entered, and even this minimal amount of brightness caused Natalya to hiss in a feral manner and shade her eyes. When Ivan spoke he spoke only in Russian.  
"Здравствуйте , Наталья . Выйди , пожалуйста ? Я принесла тебе немного еды . Не так значит старший брат... Я принес вам хороший мягкую подушку и красивое платье ." The mention of food was the only thing tempting enough to make Natalya stick her head out from under the bed. The girl was nothing but a pale ghastly sight-- almost entirely skin and bones. She stared at Ivan, eyes seeming to bulge from their sockets as she tried to roll words off her dried slack tongue. Ivan simply tutted at the sight of the young woman and went to set the tray of food on the bed along with the dress and bed dressings. The book was kept as he slowly and purposefully walked over to the crouching younger Nations.  
"Посмотри на себя... такой печальный вид. Я мог бы сделать все это лучше, если вы станете единым со мной! Тогда вы могли бы выйти из этого места и к миру с Катюшей и I." A hand was extended out to Natalya as she continued to stare silently at Ivan. Her weariness was not without reason. The copious amounts of time she spent in the dark had given her much to think about. Two conflicting sides had long since waged war after war in Natalya's head. Yet now, looking at Ivan, it was clear to her which side was winning and it almost invoked _physical_ agony upon her twisted body. The curse of immortality, as she would learn. Although each time the Nation of Belarus passed it seemed to only took longer to come back. Ivan was very slowly killing her down here, and yet he was offering to take her up? As if he cared about her? The sadness in his voice reminded Natalya of somebody... She couldn't quite put a name to the face. Slowly, the blonde managed to imitate the Russian speech of the older Representative.  
"еда..." The look of joy upon Ivan's face as he knelt down besides her on the ground and urged her up was something that made Natalya want to wretch up the acid curdling in her stomach, but it was better than the hitting, the cutting, the tearing. It was something she could live with at least for now.  
"Да! Еда! Приходите сейчас, сестра. Приходите едят пищу и я буду помогать вам в вашей новой одежде." The hand helping Natalya up was gentle. It was different than the hand that had hit her. The hand that was kept the door firmly closed even as she howled and threw herself against it in anger at the sounds of an all too familiar scream from somewhere in the distance. This couldn't be the hand that had grabbed her by the wrist and told her that she was no longer allowed to be Belarus. That she was no longer allowed to speak Belarusian or called herself as such. There was no way. So now, on shaky legs, Natalya found her wind hazing at the edges as she looked to the ajar door. Her first coherent thought at this sight was that of running. It brought back a memory... She couldn't quite remember it all.  
Ivan led Natalya patiently over to the bed and helped her sit before taking a seat next to her and taking up the bowl of thick meat soup from the tray. Natalya made to grab the soup away from him, but her wrist was smacked sharply as she tried to do so and a look of disappointment found it's way to the Russian man's face as he withheld the soup from her now. It was unbearable. The only way to get the soup that Natalya could think of was by repeating a single phrase. Desperation made her fragile voice crack as she gave in if only for that moment.  
"Я из России." Slowly the look of disappointment morphed into one of contempt and then slowly a disgusting display of emotion that clearly said one thing. 'I am winning'. The victorious expression was kept even as Ivan moved a spoonful of soup to Natalya's shriveled and chapped lips and eased it into her mouth. She was deteriorating at last. The next step of the process could be easy now that she was willing to comply. Now if only the Polish man was as willing as her. The girl greedily kept requesting more and more faster and faster until Ivan saw her lurch and almost wretch up the soup onto her own feet. That was what happened when someone who hadn't eaten in so long suddenly was given enough food to fill their empty bodies. Watching her struggle to keep the food down, Ivan stroked Natalya's hair and hummed to himself softly. It was nice having a little sister. It was better than having a big sister even. Little sisters were more fun to play with, that was for sure.  
Natalya finally managed to settle her stomach and the second she did she went back to eating. Once the soup was consumed and the dregs licked out the bottom of the bowl, Natalya eyed the tray where a large roll of bread sat. She could smell it and it made her already moistened mouth water more. Ivan followed her gaze and picked up the loaf, breaking off a piece and wagging it in front of the blonde's face. He laughed slightly watching her gaze follow the moving bread chunk. Then, bringing the bread closer to her face, Ivan pressed it to her lips and watched as they parted excitedly and moved over the baked dough and even parts of the Russian's fingers. The feeling of saliva drenching his fingers made Ivan tilt his head slightly and his eyes narrow; he did nothing. Albeit slower than the soup, the bread was consumed. When Natalya was finished eating, a small glass of wine was brought up as well and brought to her lips. Her bony hands helped to guide Ivan's thicker ones as she drank the red liquid quickly and messily, the alcohol trickling down her chin and onto her burlap-like clothes.   
Once the meal was complete and Natalya's given a little more time to make sure she could keep it all down and not vomit it back up, Ivan had the girl stand so he could lead her out of the room and to the bath he had drawn for her prior. The raggedy girl was forced to cling to Ivan's arm as support seeing as she was still very weak from her time spent in the classroom this go around. The hall was different than she last remembered it. Brighter, more grandiose. Yet everything was tense in a way that, at the time, Natalya lacked words to describe it. As the two Representatives left the room two young women went down and started to clean the room up. The defecation and the urine and the torn up bedding and the splintered wood. One of the two picked up the dress and the book and dutifully followed after Ivan and Natalya to the bathing room. The faint sounds of someone yelling in a language that hazily made Natalya's mind stir was present; Natalya was too concentrated on getting used to the light now harassing her eyes.   
The bath was long enough to get Natalya clean but not long enough to steal the oils from her skin and cause it to prune. Although, to her, her skin seemed so tightly stretched over her bones that it would be deemed impossible for it to go slack. It made her uncomfortable to have Ivan looking at her completely exposed like that, but whether it was simply because of her nakedness, her shame, or that it was _him_ was something even she could not make sense of. All she knew was it made her full stomach gurgle in discontent. She said nothing though. She couldn't afford to go back into that room. She had had enough of being 'retaught'. She _wouldn't_ go back in that room. She would say she'd rather have teeth pulled, but that had happened one too many times for the expression to make sense anymore.   
Natalya Arlovskaya was Belarusian, she knew-- but at this time, maybe... just maybe... she could be Russian for a while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh boy! We entered another time period here, folks. Thanks once again for taking a looks at the latest chapter; best wishes to all those that will be celebrating the holidays in the US!  
> Sorry for not translating any of the Russian, but if you can you probably should! It helps you form a bit more of a picture on what's going on in this chapter.  
> Thank you for reading and don't forget to leave a comment on what you think about the story-- Addio!


	4. War-Rotten Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most people called war Hell. The Nations called it a way of life. Natalya, on the other hand? Natalya knew better. War was not Hell-- Nor was war just 'a way of life'. War was simply a nightmare come to the waking world; at this point she could not have cared any less.

War was inevitable. All Nations knew this. Some embraced it. Some tried ceaselessly to bring doubt to the notion that nothing is complete without. Others simple accepted it and tried to keep their head on their shoulders. It was not like Natalya was a stranger to War, in all Her awful glory, as she had seen it often as a child. Yet, somehow, this was something entirely new. The disconsolate anger and meaninglessness of it all was overwhelming. It was times like this an old part of Natalya, not crushed by the harsh yet 'necessary teachings' of her older brother but strengthened, that questioned what the worth of living was in a world where fickle fleeting beings controlled the course of the world as if it were just some sort of crazy game of chess. Humans were the reason they existed, and humans were the reason they died. They were the defining factor behind how strong they were and just how healthy or sick they were. Without humans they were nothing, and with them they equaled but the same. What an unforgiving paradox, Natalya would think to herself at times.  
There was nothing that Natalya could remember that was more confusing than her first _real_ war. People were torn between themselves, unable to pick sides. Others were trampling over former friends and family as if they had meant nothing at all if only to achieve the goals set forth by the human populous. She could remember clearly the awfulness of it all. At this time, some Nations still battled face to face as their troops died at their feet. The practice of Nation vs. Nation warfare had, in fact, been collectively decided against at this point in time; it had been deemed too gruesome and primitive of them to do so anymore. Natalya could even remember when that had been banned. It was not but shortly after the first Great War ended as she recalled. That was besides the point of course.  
But a rewind could be put into place. The events leading up to the war that shaped the Modern World in all it's astounding atrocity was shrouded in a veil of heated haze that clogged the nose and mouth and made one's eyes water. The days were filled with false kings and false gods. The little power the Representatives had had over their people was fading. The whole of mankind was forgetting about them. They no longer feared or respected them. They were simply there; it infuriated them. It drove many mad for periods of times until they managed to gain their wits about them and accept that they were no longer the fearsome beings they had once been. Natalya did not face this challenge. Natalya had never thought she was more than another life running its' course, wonder its' purpose, waiting to die. Sooner or later, she had thought many times sitting in the dark of the classroom-- simply waiting for her brother to come and get her and to let her apologize and to give her back her life. Waiting for him to let her back to her normal routine. Katyusha often looked at her with pity and sorrow so brimming to the edge that Natalya could plainly see the tears threatening to spill over and onto the front of her dress. She hated it.  
Ivan had been acting strange, she had noted one day. Things had been getting tense in the world over. She could tell. The Royal family had been fearful, and the government was in a state of unrest. It had been taking quite the toll on the man, and he had been quicker to the trigger than usually. Natalya remembered smiling smugly as he lashed at Katyusha for simply touching his shoulder and offering to get him pain killers-- he had slapped her hard enough to dislocate her jaw and send her tumbling to the floor in a mess of pain and tears. Now, she realized how useless such a smug expression had been. How use the slap was. How useless the tears were. That had been just one of the first of many times he had acted violent towards the them, not just Natalya but Katyusha as well, outside of 'class'. It made the whole household uneasy. Soon he started to play 'games' to pass the time. These could range from holding someone down as he tested how long their skin could withstand the point of a needle forcing someone to lie down naked in the dirt with honey spread over their body. The games grew more dangerous and deranged as time passed, his idleness becoming more apparent until one day Natalya swore he had snapped.  
The murder of the family had been the last straw. The government was taken over. Ivan changed. Russia changed. The world stood by and they watched. Battle after battle-- against himself. The White Russia and the Red Russia. Katyusha and Natalya could do nothing but try to stay out of his way. Or, Katyusha did. Natalya, with nothing else that she knew to do, stayed by his side. The man's violence knew no bounds. He lashed at her repeatedly before transitioning and repeating. He would grow determined to end the revolution. He would grow insistent to crush the anti-revolutionists. He would _lie_.  
Soon enough, Imperial Russia was truly no more. The sternness and ' once to learn your lesson' attitude vanished. Ivan grew childish in the way he hurt others. He would purposefully toy with others, seemingly oblivious to the cruelty of his own actions. He became even more possessive over the people he had under his control. Ivan was not the only one who changed. Katyusha became cold. She grew distant from her family, and she often isolated herself away from them. It wasn't until the Reunion that the household became the most dysfunctional thing to grace the living Earth. That was the first time Natalya saw Toris in a very long time. Or maybe it wasn't even Natalya...  
The recent rise of the Soviet Union had been a defining moment for Natalya as a person-- or what was left of her to call a person. Watching the new arrivals come to the house was a thing that invoked a deep sense of spite in Natalya. These people would not know how to act in this house. They would endanger the peace--or perhaps it was her own illusion of peace-- and they would of course have Ivan's attention. The aforementioned man was standing between Natalya and Katyusha, his uniform crisp and clean and badges of honor already in place upon his chest. That blasted smile still sat upon his face, but to Natalya now? It was a blessed sight. The girl in question was wearing a dress she had not since _not_ worn since she had gotten it a many years back. A white bow sat in her long since grown back out blonde hair and her arm was interlocked with Ivan's, one hand resting on his arm as she watched the door patiently.  
When the door was finally abruptly opened, two men and a younger boy were led into the house. Almost automatically, the three began to tremble violently at the sight of the three Slavic siblings standing right before them. The boy, a poor scrap of a Nation with a tousled top of curly dark blonde hair and pale blue eyes, seemed to start to cry as he stared in fearful awe at Ivan and then at Natalya. The second man, who in all honesty was hardly Baltic at all in nature, was the former Tormentor of the Baltic Sea. Natalya recognized him off the bat as the man who had claimed himself to be the Scandinavian Representative of Estonia. He had very straight, almost dusty brown, blonde hair with grey-green eyes framed by glasses. His stare was cold, his body frigid, and fear seemed to be radiating off him in sickening waves of nausea. The third... Was like a vision straight from a dream.  
Toris was still the same, yet barely recognizable in a way that made Natalya's head spin. He had trimmed his hair up to his chin and it framed his face in chocolate waves. The same piercing dark green eyes had grown hooded and tired looking; he was less scared looking than the other two and seemed more like he was just plain weary of the place-- yet the second his gaze landed on Natalya a smile so relieved it was almost heart-breaking appeared on his face; Natalya was not sure how to react. Instead she looked away from him and held back a grimace of confusion.  
Ivan pushed Natalya's hands off him as he walked forward to inspect his new playthings closer. Natalya hovered behind him all the while, ignoring the watchful gaze of Katyusha on her back. Toris shifted often, casting slightly confused but gleeful glances at the Belorussian girl. She avoided his eyes as if even peeking would turn her to a pillar. Ivan first inspected the youngest boy, asking his name. When he replied with 'Latvia' Ivan struck him. The smack sent the boy quite literally spinning back into Estonia with a sharp cry of pain as tears spilled over from his already watering eyes. Ivan inquired again, yanking the boy away from Estonia's arms. He said his name was Raivis.  
Next, Ivan looked to Estonia. Noting the reaction Ivan had to Riavis introducing himself with his country name, the man decided against it and eliminated the option. Articulating himself carefully, he introduced as Eduard von Bok. Ivan stared at him for a long time before reaching out and taking a gentle hold of the man's face. Natalya watched silently as Ivan ran his fingertips over Eduard's face and prodded, pulled, and traced over his features. Then the Russian simply stopped touching him and moved onto Toris as if he had not even been so intimate in the first place. Natalya bristled slightly as Toris stood up straighter when Ivan turned to face him. The display of defiance that was so outwardly shone seemed to surprise Ivan slightly as he tilted his head and smiled wider, gums showing and eyes narrowed minutely. It was not Ivan but Natalya who stepped forward, and she marveled at how Toris' face relaxed and his eyes softened and his shoulders fell limp from their tenseness. Ivan asked him the question, though they all knew full well he knew Toris, and the answer was as it was always. He is Lithuania. Again-- it was not Ivan but Natalya who hit him.  
The shock rocketed through Toris at lighting's pace as his gaze turned to Natalya and his mouth gaped wordlessly. He rubbed his face lightly as he tried not to show how upset he was. He tried to speak to her in Lithuanian. She did not respond. He tried again in Belarusian. She made a disgusted face. He tried once more desperately in Polish. She turned away. Toris felt like he might cry at the injustice of it all, and as he looked at Ivan he felt ice go down his spine. The man smiling-- He was _truly_ smiling; it was the most disgusting thing he'd ever seen in his life. It was Ivan who led them to the rooms they'd be staying in and he did not have to tell Natalya to stay put as he did so. She was content staying away from the Baltic men. Especially Toris. She couldn't quite put her finger on it but there was something about him that made her confused. It made her question something she didn't know how to word; she knew that questioning was wrong. She had _learned_ not to question. Questioning things made Ivan mad, and Natalya didn't want Ivan mad. She wanted him happy. She only wanted his happiness.  
The Baltic men found themselves in a now Hell-ish situation. They were used as borderline slaves, often called butlers by Ivan in front of the other Nations, and it was not uncommon for them to be beaten or abused in ways that would make even the mightiest of mortal men quake and swoon. For a variety of reasons, ranging from completing a task, breaking things, saying the wrong things, refusing to speak in Russian, calling themselves by their country names, or simple because Ivan felt like 'playing' that day. It was often Eduard and Toris who were beaten seeing as Katyusha would beg and plead and weep with Ivan, even barter to take beating in his place, that Raivis not be hurt. Of course he still hurt the boy but never when Katyusha was present. There was something about the trembling boy that unlocked a part of Katyusha that Natalya hadn't seen since the woman had been a young girl taking care of the bumbling band of ducklings under the Allegiance of the Kievan Rus'. Perhaps that was _why_ it reduced her to this state. She had not worked with a child Nation in a very long time. She most likely could not bare the thought of such a young soul, yet another old young one, being killed or maimed or tortured. It was most likely that her begging helped save the life of the child. Then again, as it would prove, there was more to matter...  
Natalya, if she so decided, could think back on many individual times that the boys had been abused. It seemed hazy in her mind of course given many varying factors. There was one in particular that she could recall. It had been several years in to the whole ordeal when Toris had done something, something Natalya couldn't recall off the top of her head, that had truly and most sincerely pissed off Ivan to the point of almost murdering the smaller Nations he had taken as his underling. There was something else about this time that had stood out. If Natalya could only... remember...  
The day had been a cold one. Winter had not yet struck, but Fall was rapidly dissipating into the season that Ivan seemed to like the most of them all. At least then, he had liked it... It had also been a wet one. The half frozen rain had stuck to the windows and crusted the already locked and bolted door shut. Katyusha had been silently cooking in the kitchen, even though it was Raivis who was in charge of making Ivan's meal that afternoon, and Natalya had been idly watching Eduard handling laundry before seemingly growing bored of watching his mechanical movement and moved on to go peek on what Ivan was doing. She knew he would no doubt be quietly reading documents in his study, but she also knew that he would have Toris close at hand and this without a doubt bothered her beyond belief. He seemed to favor Toris in many ways-- both as a slave and a toy. Toris often took the fall for the other two Baltics and more often than not was the one Ivan decided to play with when he grew bored.  
When Natalya arrived at Ivan's study she found the door closed. This was not entirely unusual but it still made her uncomfortable for reasons she couldn't explain. She had developed certain habits as it was. She often found herself pacing and frustrated, almost fearful, at seven AM. When eight AM came she would go and she would hid in the closet. The stroke of nine AM meant that it was time to sit down with Ivan and the others and watch television-- it was often about Russia. At eleven AM, she would grow extremely restless and often went about the house unlatching and relatching windows and doors and would count ceaslessly from zero to one hundred and then back to zero until noon came. At one PM she would go back about her daily life, perhaps play around with some of the cardboard left around and tinker aimlessly with her knives that she had collected. Then, when four PM struck she repeated most of her sceduele before going to sleep at one AM and waking up at 5 AM. Other things she had come to dislike. Closed doors, especially ones that she knew Ivan was behind, made her extremely uneasy. When her sister got a new headband, Natalya felt the need to stretch it at least nine hundred and seventy seven times before she could give it back to Katyusha. The static of the television made the inside of her throat tingle, and the color orange made her skin itch.  
So now, standing at this door, Natalya felt like something was just _off_. She slowly raised a hand and gently knocked on the door. When she did this she heard a couple of harsh whispers and the sounds of glass clinking before silence fell again. Dark blue eyes narrowing sharply, Natalya's face screwed up a bit as she slowly and purposefully moved her hand down to the door knob and grasped it. Several more moments she sat there, just listening, before twisting the handle and throwing the door open in one smooth movement. As the door was pushed back, Natalya was met with the sight of Raivis and Toris standing there. Raivis was red faced and puffy-eyed and had a deep scowl set on his young face and he was very violently trying to grab one of Ivan's most prized brandname Vodka bottles from Toris who was trying to keep it away from him. No doubt in Natalya's mind that Raivis had been drinking from that bottle. That would explain why Ivan's alcohol had been going faster than usual. But as Toris' green gaze flit to Natalya standing in the door way, his grip went slack in shock of being caught and the bottle slipped from his grasp and shattered noisily--and messily-- on the floor.  
Natalya hardly had time to open her mouth to tell them she was going to tell Ivan than the man himself pushed her into the room and then aside as he stormed in like a winter tempest. Raivis seemed to sober almost automatically with the introduction of pure terror, and straightened up as he skittered backwards and then behind Toris. The brunet did nothing but blubber as he stared at Ivan advancing on him. He was saying he'd done it he had been stealing the alcohol from Ivan and that he'd broken the bottle trying to keep Raivis from taking it from him. Natalya almost admired that... Vaguely. On the other hand, she found it stupid that he was taking the fall for this boy. Had he not been beaten enough? Ivan silently dismissed Raivis who skittered past Natalya shaking and crying. The girl stood there still, watching the events transpire. Ivan grabbed Toris by the upper arm and dragged him over to the desk near the large french windows on the other side of the room. Tilting her head slightly and lacing her hands together over he lap, Natalya entered the room to watch this as Ivan made Toris stand in front of the desk and start to disrobe. The brunet did this with some sort of practiced normality that was almost painfully humorous in a way that elicited a sour feeling deep in the stomach. He refused to meet Natalya's eyes and tried desperately to pretend she wasn't watching.  
In the meantime, Ivan had circled the desk and yanked a drawer open. A box of matches, a small metal rod, and a length of twine were taken the desk drawer and set out upon the surface of the furniture. Two matches were taken as well as the striker surface over to the fireplace. The Russian man carefully put four logs into the hearth before lighting the matches and tossing them in after taking a flask from his pocket and pouring some of the contents onto the wood. The fire caught automatically and was left to grow as Ivan turned back to Toris, who Natalya was now inspecting. The man's back was already riddled with scars and fresh wounds as well. Occasionally she would reach out a hand to ghost over a couple of very faint scars in area that invoked a dull pinging in her head-- as if there was some kind of memory connected to it that she couldn't quite recall. It frustrated her to the point of almost hitting Toris from sheer misdirected anger. She retreated away from Toris as Ivan advanced back to them, eyes narrowed a vicious Cheshire grin in place upon his face. The Belorussian watched intently as Ivan grabbed Toris by the shoulder tightly before his grip softened and he seemed to rub the spot there; he then decided to remove his gloves slowly and set them aside with the objects from within the desk.  
Toris kept his eye trained straight ahead even as Ivan mindlessly ran his hand over scar and wound and the little amount of clear flesh that the young man still had on his body. At times Ivan would experimentally dig his nails into Toris-- at places like the junction of his neck and shoulder, his armpit, the area over his sternum, the soft above his crotch where--strangely Natalya would note-- there grew no hair. The area seemed red and irritated and it wouldn't be until years later that she would recognize that this irritation was caused by hot wax being ripped away from the skin violently. She had to give him credit for not flinching at any of this. Although the whole thing was surreal to watch. After Ivan had succeeded in going over every area of Toris' body, he seemed to make a choice and stood from where he had been scratching at Toris' ankles and went to the desk. The brunet was shaking minutely with each breath. Ivan returned back with the small metal rod and the length of twine and took Toris' by the hair and drove him over to the fireplace. Natalya followed behind several paces, curious as to what Ivan was doing with all this and morbidly entertained with Toris' reaction to it all. He seemed so determined not to let how bothered he was by it all show.  
Ivan stopped Toris by the fireplace and knelt down by the fire and thrust the small metal rod into the fire with no care for the fact his own skin was being burnt by the flames. Natalya swore he relished the feeling. The Lithuanian seemed to grow anxious, and the anxiety was starting to become apparent on his face. As time progressed. It was then that Ivan did something that seemed to surprise both of them in a way they would never be able to fully coherently express with words no matter how much the language changed or time passed. The Russian slowly turned back to Toris, the metal rod glowing red with heat, and grabbed the Lithuanian by his flaccid penis and peeled back his foreskin. Natalya's eye widened as full realization hit her like a bag of bricks to the face. It seemed to hit Toris a second later-- and a second to late. For as he realized what was happened, Ivan slowly started to forced the heated rod into his urethral opening. The man could not hold in his initial scream of pain, but it was choked back as it melted into hysterical dry sobbing as he balled his hands into fists and closed his eyes tightly. Natalya could do nothing but stare and wonder what _exactly_ that must have felt like. She could faintly here Ivan laughing and asking Toris something, but it was all very far away as she simply continued to stare at the rod sliding slowly into the now half melted opening it had been forced into. The heat had melted the skin there and for a split second Natalya wondered how he would be able to ever ejaculate properly again before the thought was pushed out of her head.  
Ivan did not seem satisfied until Toris had actually started to cry and his throat become to hoarse to scream any longer. Faintly, Natalya realized she had almost never heard the brunet scream before. Ivan did not remove the rod but rather seemed opted to test what he had done out on how it effected Toris' genitals. He started to bend and twist the Lithuanian's penis with the rod still inserted in it with almost child-like curiosity and wonder. Eventually, he grew bored of this and abandoned it in favor of pulling out the twine instead and forcibly pulling the rod out with no forethought on how it would effect Toris in any way. The sound produced by this was enough to make Natalya wince in second-hand pain. It was as if something had been audibly _ripped_. Transfixed by all of this, Natalya had no real option but to watch as Ivan grabbed Toris by the testicles this time and tightly tied the twine around the base of them. Before the effects of this could be watched in wonder, the Russian got a sudden idea and stood up quickly before grabbing the shorter Lithuanian man by the jaw and forcing his mouth open. Wagging the metal rod in front of him with a soft murmur that Natalya couldn't make out, Ivan then proceeded to shoved the metal rod right down Toris' throat with a gleeful look on his face.  
This time, _Toris could not even scream._ Instead he simply started to choke violently, trying to raise his hands up to remove the rod on instinct. Ivan grabbed his wrists in one hand and started to shove the rod farther down with his fingers, Toris' jaw being forced farther apart as Ivan forced his hand into the young man's mouth. Natalya had to look away. She didn't know why she looked away until later; the reason infuriated her. It was because he had looked her in the eye. Toris had looked at her and they had held eye contact and it had made her _sick_. It made her want to wretch until her stomach was empty and she was simply dry heaving. In the end Natalya ended up turning away and fleeing from the room, unable to take it anymore. She closed the door as she left and did not look back.  
There were other instances that Natalya could remember, some more gruesome than even that to the point she did not _wish_ to recount. She could remember walking in on Ivan doing terrible, unspeakable, disgusting things to Eduard-- yet he did nothing. She marveled most at his stony exterior, and he took the longest to break; this might have been why Ivan came down on his back so hard-- both figuratively and literally. He was the last to crack in the ground, and when he did he cracked hard. Much akin to smashing a boulder. You hit it for hours, days, years-- and then with one final strike that hits just right the unbreakable rock shatters to pebbles. It was interesting to watch Ivan break in the Baltic states. To watch them slowly lose their minds as their mental strings unraveled under the stress of his presence and then eventually watching them turn on one another as they struggled to not be the one that was subjected to such acts of inhumane acts of violence. At least for the time being, it had been.  
When the world least expected it, chaos erupted. As if the first great war had not shaken the Countries of that world to their knees and weakened them to the point of collapse and absolute mayhem. As if hadn't driven them to madness. When the second war came upon the Nations of Europe, it swept everyone right off their feet. The humans, the animals, and the immortals of that realm alike found themselves subjected to a cruel game of playing God. They were used to false reality and crazy ideas, but never before had they faced such a threat. Such a menace to their own existence. In the end, they became their own worst enemies. People turned against their Nations, and Nations turned against their people. It was during this time that Natalya found herself suddenly in the clutches of the Beilschmidt brother. It almost damn well killed her.  
Leaving the house of the Soviets had been an involuntary thing. Natalya had decided, upon a whim, that she was tired of the screaming and the fighting and the blood and the torture. She decided it was time to be Belarus. She had packed what little belongings she had and had given her sleeping brother a goodbye kiss before going on her way. She didn't realize, but Toris watched her leave. The way back to Belarus was decidedly easier than the journey to Russia had been all those years ago, and Natalya found herself almost blissfully unaware of the trouble she would be stepping into the second she returned to her home. Home, perhaps, should be considered a loose term. Natalya had never really _lived_ in her country before except very briefly before she had moved in with Ivan full time. The house she had lived in was small and cozy but now that it had fallen to basic ruin since she'd been gone it felt cramped and suffocating when she arrived and stepped inside. Much of her first day back was spent anxiously pacing and watching the motionless clock, the hands stuck on 5:35 pm. Occasionally she would get the clock and would carefully reset it to a different time before putting it back up and checking it ever ten minutes before repeating the process; most of her time was spent trying to clean up the place. Luckily for her, as a return gift her countries leader had presented her with what they claimed would be her 'caretaker'. The young girl with Natalya was a beautiful little thing. Her skin could be compared to porcelain and her fair blonde hair was thick and straight as a sheet. She had warm brown eyes that held the most mischievous twinkle that Natalya had seen grace a human in many many years. She had said her named was Tatyana Novik, but everybody called her Taty. The two interacted well enough, but Natalya found herself avoiding the girl's awed stare as she yammered away in mix of butchered Russian and elegantly fluid Belarusian. It made her shameful. How could this child, a human mortal child, know this language? She was supposed to speak Russian. Belarusian was not their tongue, yet she spoke it and it was familiar and yet it was different and Natalya felt a deep rooted envy at the thought that someone would know her own language better than her. The question she asked were almost as irritating as the language difference. Tatyana was asking how it was to be immortal and what it was like in Russia and if Natalya could take out her teeth and have them regrown back in as if they had just been babies' teeth.  
Eventually the two grew tolerant of one another's existence, or more so Natalya of Tatyana's, and it was just as they managed to find a sort of peaceful neutrality that it all came tumbling down around their feet. Living alone in this little secluded area a little ways outside of Minsk was already strange for two young women, but opening up the door one starry night to find not one but two other nations on your porch with a group of soldiers was absolutely absurd. And so as it goes.  
Natalya had been sitting silently by the empty and closed up fire place. It had been a long fairly warm day filled with hard work that had been finished alarmingly given it was shared between two younger women. Water and check the crops, feed the livestock, milk the cows and goats, gather the eggs, and then much more of the day was spent tending to the little garden that Tatyana had insisted on having. Now in the late dimming evening of the day, both girls were resting in silent comfort when a sudden sharp knock came rapping on the door. A strange piercing panic seemed to enter Natalya's heart before it was quickly iced over by her steeled resolve and sense of self. Tucking a long misplaced strand of blonde hair behind her ear, she let her dark gaze drift to Tatyana. The girl's almost white blonde hair was cut short, almost questionably short for a woman of their time, and her brown eyes were riddled with confusion as her brow pulled together. Natalya gave a silent nod for her to go answer the door as she went back to what she had been doing, polishing her metal dinnerware. The young girl stood, bare feet padding on the wooden floors quietly as she paced to the door and opening it slightly. A timid hello was started before replaced with a startled gasp as a gloved hand was shoved into the crack of the barely opened door and thrown open, subsequently pushing Tatyana out of the way.  
Natalya automatically jumped to her feet in surprise, brandishing the spoon she had been polishing as a weapon as a man she recognized all too well suddenly entered the main room of the cottage. She could feel her breath rush back into her lungs as they had been emptied in her shock. Gilbert Beilschmidt had just thrown aside her companion and her caretaker like a ragdoll and forcibly entered _her_ home in _her_ country and she had never felt so insulted. She shouted at him angrily in her new revitalized vernacular, mouth drawn in a wide ugly snarl. She had no reason to be beautiful now. And she really didn't have any reason to be nice especially as Gilbert brother Ludwig entered the house after the older man, a squad of mortal foot soldiers at his heels. What was this supposed to be. Natalya went to rush Gilbert, who was currently nudging the still felled Tatyana with the toe of his boot, but ended up being caught by Ludwig her grabbed her by the hair and yanked back. When she felt his knee ram into the back of her own she knew what this was. She felt deep within her old beaten down soul what it was and it was an achingly familiar feeling that she knew she'd come to hate. She was being taken over. When Natalya hit the floor, her butt numbing with the pain of all her weight coming down on it, she could already feel her pulse pounding erratically. It only seemed to get worse as Gilbert turned his heart stopping gaze on her and smiled.  
"Hallo, Natalya. _Sind Sie nicht auf der Suche schön wie stets?_ " Natalya didn't understand his tongue nor did she want to and it was then that pieces seemed to connect to form a bigger picture. Was this what it was like? Was she just going to pushed and shoved around under other people? God, what was the fucking _point_. She stared silently and hatefully up at Gilbert, chin lifted in an unusual defiance she had forgotten she even possessed. A self of individuality that she had since let lie. When the devil of a man, or at least to Natalya that was what he was, reached down to run his gloved fingers over her cheek she retaliated in a feral way that brought up vague memories of darkness and that dress. The dress she had stopped wearing since she had left Ivan. Teeth sinking deeply into the cloth, into flesh, Natalya almost didn't hear the loud yell of alarm and pain and hardly felt the strike across her face from one of the mortal men there. Although she did catch Tatyana shrilly telling her to bite his fingers clean off. That she heard and she damn well was willing to comply before another sharp strike to the head, from Ludwig or Gilbert she could not tell, sent her thoughts reeling in her mind and made her eyes glaze over for several seconds, stars flying in her vision. She released at last and Gilbert drew away cursing and spitting at the Belarusian woman as she tilted sideways before falling over in her disorientation.  
" _Dir ficken Tier! Ich sollte bis dir Beat mit einem dreschflegel, wenn Sie handeln so!_ " Ludwig silenced his brother with a sidelong glance as he moved past him without a word and over to where Natalya had been sitting previously. When the stars cleared from the downed Nation's eyes she looked to see Ludwig seating himself in her seat and Gilbert staring blood-chilling daggers down at her. In her peripheral vision she could see one of the mortal men looking Tatyana over, the little blonde child snarling with a fearful betraying look in her eyes. With a simple loud shout at the man he drew away from the girl in a terrified sort of way, rounding on Natalya with his gun up before one of his comrades pushed his gun back down with a scowl. It appeared that the mortal men still had some sense about them when dealing with an angry immortal. The Belarusian Country gestured to her civilian who came to her quickly and fell to her breast with an angry sob. The two sat the floor together for what seemed like forever until finally Ludwig, from his position in Natalya's chair, spoke. He spoke poor Russian to her, telling her why they were there and that no physical harm would come to either of them if they listened and did as they were told-- how good little women should act. This made Natalya's blood boil slightly as she ground her teeth behind her lips, but she knew that fighting back would get them nowhere. Maybe she could win against one of these male Nations with a miracle shot, but two? Even with God on her side she would have a snowflake's chance in Hell beating them off. Add in the mortal men with their guns and unpredictable way of attacking others and it was a done sealed deal. They would have to listen to them whether they liked it or not and briefly Natalya regretted coming her. Coming to this little cottage in her land with this little girl who asked annoying questions and always wanted to braid flowers into her hair. She regretted in and she wanted to go home. She wanted to go back to Russia. When Ludwig pointed at Tatyana and gestured away neither moved. It was then that the man, folding his heads and steepling his fingers in his lap, sighed and rolled his eyes slightly.  
" _Dir -- gehen machen Abendessen._ " The rough German spoken to them did nothing to help either of them understand what he was asking and when Gilbert stepped forward and made to grab Tatyana Natalya nearly had a fit despite herself. She picked up the polished spoon she had dropped when she fell earlier and made to jab the old knight with it in the hand. He withdrew before the silver made contact but gave her a warning look, eyes narrowed in vague annoyance. Underneath this Natalya saw something that she was almost alarmed to see. Understanding.  
" _Ich werde nicht zu verletzen sie._ " She wasn't sure entirely what that meant and she was stubborn but slowly Natalya let go of Tatyana who stared at the Prussian before her with such anger that the Belarusian woman mused briefly over if Gilbert might catch on fire from the intensity of her gaze. So with brown eyes dark and sharp, like the rocks by the shore that crush and sink even the most proud ships, Tatyana let herself be lead away by Gilbert and over to the kitchen. Dinner. They expected these woman to provide for them? The word _occupation_ fluttered through Natalya's mind as she turned to look at Ludwig only to find his bright blue gaze staring, half lidded, back at her. What was this and _why_? She couldn't make sense of it. Had her times with her siblings brought her so out of the loop that she didn't even know what was happening in the world around her? What kind of awful trap had she walked herself into? An even better question was, was she ever going to get herself and Tatyana out of this. While Gilbert hovered over little Tatyana, barefoot and already changed into her nightgown, Natalya slowly stood and made her way over to Ludwig. He watched her the whole while, leaning back in his new seat as she came over and knelled to gather up the fallen silverware. This was the first day.  
As time passed on and on and the German men in her home became a horrible sort of normality, Natalya felt something quite amiss. It started small, when she felt a strange burning in her hands and fingers. It then escalated to nights spent thrashing in discomfort as cold sweat drenched the hay mat she had been given to sleep on and soaked into her clothes. It got worse as searing pain erupted in her head and chest and her weight dropped rapidly, her health starting to deteriorate to the point a simple tiny cut would ooze blood for hours on end and take a week to heal. Tatyana worried for her, and as Natalya would find out Gilbert also worried for her in his own strange ways. Natalya did not understand. The mortal men in her home, once they had reached a settled state, were not treating her as badly as she might have expected. They fear her and they feared the Nations they were subordinated to. They ate, they drank, they made merry, and they occasionally flirted with the two ladies in the house when they were feeling particularly brave. She still ate, albeit less than the usual, and she still slept decently enough. It made no sense as to why her health would be declining so rapidly until one day, over several months in on a frigid day on a February morning, that Gilbert cracked while Ludwig and the officers were out surveying Minsk.  
Natalya had been on the floor in her bed, laying motionless in her pain and staring blankly up at the ceiling. Tatyana was left to attend her, placing a cold dry towel on her forehead to try and help alleviate the heat and soak up the sweat from her brow and attempting to her to eat food. Gilbert and been left as guard. Basically left to make sure someone was there to document Natalya's death if she dropped and keep Tatyana from running off. He was sitting in that chair, the on by the fire place, legs folded and elbow rested on one of his knees as she stared idly at the two girls with his eyebrows brought together in a vaguely unreadable expression. After a particularly pained groan from the grounded Nation, Gilbert took a sharp inhale and stood with a crazed guilty look breaking his usually cocky and condescending demeanor. In a rapid tone he started to speak in an old language. An ancient one. One that Natalya hadn't heard come from a single living mouth in many many years. It was the language of Prussia-- the Old Prussia --that had been presumably destroyed by the Holy Roman Empire. She had trouble understanding it but given GIlbert's desperate tone and mortality stricken expression she tried her best to do just that. What she managed to gather shook her poor body to the very core.  
Gilbert was spilling his guts out to the two, although Tatyana just seemed awed at this unknown tongue and how Natalya understood it. What Natalya gather was that his brother's leaders had convinced him to act as a figure head to unite their nations people for his cause and that meant going out and being with the soldiers as they did their deeds and work. There were currently hundred of troops of German men in Minsk as they spoke and that they were doing terrible awful things across Natalya's country and across Europe. Several apologies tumbled from Gilbert's pale chapped lips as tears threatened to spill over, hot and stinging in his abnormal red eyes. He kept saying something, about them not being their leaders. That Ludwig was a good boy and that he was just doing as he was told. That he hated what they were doing and that they were also suffering. That everyone was suffering. That he was sorry. He was so _fucking_ sorry. Natalya managed to grunt, the vibration from it paining her sore and dried throat. It managed to get Gilbert to stop babbling as she clenched his hands in front of his face and wept openly now, his sobs bitter and breathing raggedy. Tatyana stood slowly from Natalya's side and paced over to Gilbert. For all his fearsome years as a nation, for all those decades he had been the man with the iron cross, for all those centuries he had been a _monster_ and yet here he was. Gilbert Beilschmidt was reduced to incoherent wailing and blubbering pathetic tears.  
To Natalya, this was simply the beginning of the end. Her body was dying, her mind fizzling, and her country under attack. All she could hope was that it would end soon; suffering like this was useless... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa oh oh oh! Man, was a crazy hectic drive this is becoming. You might have noticed that this fanfic has driven right off Canon Street into Fan Perspective Historically-centric Avenue-- but then again this has never followed the path of canon that much. ~~Canon fails to please me at times you see~~  
>  This time we're hazing the borderline between what can and cannot be said about history.  
> Once more, I hope you enjoyed! If you have any questions shoot me a message or drop a comment. Thank you for reading.  
> Addio.


	5. To You, From 1955

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of a Representative was an interesting one; none could deny that. The times were constantly changing and even if they tried their best to hold on to things it could just as easily be fluttered away by the coming spring breeze. Natalya herself found a strange comfort in embracing this change, especially with the prospect of brighter futures on the horizon. But, as she knew, the final curtain call could always be just around the corner...

In the times from when Natalya was first shoved to the ground by the German men barging into her house and the day that her brother kicked in the door himself there was sickness and their was death. Most of all there was suffering, worldwide, and it was not restricted to physical suffering in the slightest. Natalya could only assume that whatever came, came, and eventually it would be over. She really hoped so. Finding herself back in her brother's house was both stressful as well as relieving. Tatyana came with her and she remembered distinctly that much had changed since she had last been in the house. The regal wrappings had all been torn down completely at last and in all the house seemed almost decrepit. As if someone had started to take it apart more than they should have been allowed to. It looked drab and Natalya remembered the red. It was everywhere.  
The days were long, the nights longer, and the training. The work. It was gruesome. Natalya often remembered that there was still unrest among the human servants and the immortals of the household. Things were tense and unhappy and many times Natalya would notice that those who spoke out would vanish by the next morning. All except Tatyana, of course. Even when the girl, then budding into a young woman, would bluntly call out 'Ivan' there was nothing the man could do to her. Not when she was with Natalya. Though Natalya would chide at her and smack her wrists for being disrespectful there was nothing she could do to change the blonde either. She knew this and sometimes she wished she could be the same. Only sometimes.  
It was at this time that other things did change considerably. She noted that the Baltic men were now altogether mechanical, barely flinching or even crying out when struck or turned on by others. The human servants fled from them as they did not once do, all except for Tatyana of course. Katyusha has also left, heading out to her own lands now to work on the farms in an attempt to chip in on the work. This left Natalya alone with the men in her life once more. It left her alone with Ivan. Well, except for Tatyana of course. Often Natalya would find herself with the man, peaceful at last now that they had both managed to settle. She found herself able to eat again, although at time her stomach still betrayed her. It betrayed her until she spat blood and the only thing Tatyana was able to do was hold her hair back and stroke her back while Ivan sat in his office and pondered over new policies and plans. Other times it was almost like things were normal. Natalya could rest at night, only sometimes plagued by vague and sweat inducing night terrors and she could walk again at last. That was until the game changed yet again.  
Once more Natalya was faced with confusion, with her own anger, and with the strangest desire to just be left alone with Ivan. She did love him after all, as that was what siblings did. He had saved her life after all, as that was what good men did. They did love one another after all, as that was just how it is. It was on a dank Spring night when Ivan called her to his office and spoke to her of America. It was not the first time she had heard of the boy. No, it was not. She knew of him plenty well. His fierce struggle for independence from the British man who despised her brother so and how he had grown. Faster than any of them had previously and how he struggled repeatedly. Clashing against family, against himself, and now he had his gaze on them. It angered her that he would dare think he had a right to speak of them. To speak of her family and of her people and of Ivan. Ivan seemed indifferent to it, almost apathetic to the situation. He did not mind her or her words despite her tone and in the end Natalya went to confess her thoughts to Tatyana who seemed almost excited about the news of America watching the Union.  
Slowly over time Tatyana's craving to see not just 'The Land of the Free' but 'The Man Behind the Nation' grew. She confessed to Natalya about wanting to escape the lands of Russia and to get away from Ivan. That America would be exciting and new. She installed doubt, curiosity, and a strange new feeling into Natalya that in the end made her again come to her brother with a new request. To go to America to meet this man, Alfred. He refused. Again, much later, she tried. He refused. Natalya went fuming to Tatyana who, winking to her, gently nudged a piece of paper and a pencil to her. She gently smiled back and took them. The letter composed was long. It was indeed longer than Natalya had meant it to be but she had much to say and plenty of paper to put it on. She told Alfred her name, who she was, what she wanted, who she lived with. She spilled as much information as she could have into those papers and when she was done Tatyana added her own note in too, her brown eyes alight with satisfaction at her neat and almost perfect English handwriting. The Latin Alphabet on the pages stirred something strange in Natalya; she demanded that Tatyana also teach her English. Ivan would not have to know.  
Sometimes, late at night, when both girls indulged in writing letters to this magical figure that had been made of America (Mister Alfred they called him) the shadows of the Baltic men would pass by the door and pause as they listened to the on-goings within. The broken English from Natalya as she repeated back words and phrases said by the much more fluent tongue of Tatyana. It was often Toris who would peek in when the both of them fell asleep, sprawled over their paper and pencils together and sleeping soundly despite it. He would move the papers and pencils and oh so carefully tuck the both of them in, sometimes indulging in planting a soft kiss on Natalya's forehead before slipping back out of the room.  
It was Tatyana who would send the letters, passing them along a system to get to America and their new friend Mister Alfred. Although neither of them got any replies they continued to write none the less. Soon Natalya's English was suitable enough for speaking and she could write simple sentences. Ivan acted as if he did not notice; he, for a fact, did. It wasn't until Tatyana was forcibly taken from Natalya and shipped where she had so desired to go that Natalya finally stopped speaking English, stopped writing letters to Mister Alfred, and slowly gave up the idea of going to this 'Land of Opportunity'. With Tatyana gone from her Natalya found her room empty, her nights silent, and her life just a bit duller. The blonde human, she realized, had brought a kind of light into her life that no other human had managed to do in a very long while. In the end she fled back to Ivan's side for companionship, turning her back on the Baltic men just as they had just started to form the barest foundation of a friendly relationship. It was Toris who mourned this the most.  
Natalya did not realize but the brunet would continue writing letters in her stead, suffering through having his fingers broken and even cut off for the offense he kept committing. She didn't mind him or his business nor did she care. She simply followed in Ivan's tracks and let a steady sickness infect her all over again. A crippling sickness it would be. It would haunt her for countless years as she could find, striking her when she least expected it and forcing a wedge into her life. Although now it didn't matter to her. It really didn't matter at all.  
The year was 1989 when Natalya received a letter addressed to her from America. Much had happened since she had last seen Tatyana or even seen the English language, so when she forcibly sat the Baltics down and made them each use their own limited knowledge of the language to translate what was being said she was reasonably shocked to here that the letter was from none other than a one _Mrs.Novik_. All this time the woman had grown and matured in the country of America, lived her life. She had met the man, Alfred Fredrick Jones, and she had conversed with him and spent time and discussed with him. She called him 'funny' and said that he not only wished to meet her but was requesting she come as soon as possible. To stay in America with him. Natalya did not know, but Toris also had plans of going to America. She wouldn't know until she got on the boat to sail the Atlantic to the New York Harbor. All she knew was that her dear Taty was still alive and she was well and she _hand't_ been disposed of like the many humans before her. It made her heart flutter slightly in her chest, the old dream suddenly very alive and very well.  
The plans were made almost automatically. With her family in shambles, her sister hospitalized, and her brother (her poor poor brother) shamed to his core, Natalya found the move not a depressing one but one that gave her a chance to get away from the dismal state of her people and her country and what had become of the once great Union. In the year 1990, her country declared independence. This was the year she set sail...  
The streets of New York City were more bustling than Natalya could have ever expected. Tatyana had insisted upon meeting her there, telling her of Alfred's caregiver and how she had made good friends with the young man who was currently keeping track of the rambunctious Nation. Sadly, Natalya had also insisted upon getting off the boat the second she made land fall whether her shipmate, Toris, agreed or not. The sights were otherworldly and the language bizarre. The air was filled with smog and she could hardly keep her eyes from wandering up the buildings around her as she ogled at them in utter shock. Of all the things she had seen in the many years she had been alive, this was by far the most astounding as of late. The dress she wore was simple and plain, a shapeless black sack of fabric with a white collar that hugged her neck tightly with no sleeves to speak of. Her hair was tied back in a tight braid that sat over her shoulder and her face was free of the gaudy make-up she saw many other women wearing as they bustled past in pants suits and denim jeans. She felt completely out of place, really as if she had stepped into another world and it made her sick to her stomach with excitement. It seemed as if she had been standing there for hours just staring when someone grabbed her arm and pulled on her. When she rounded on the person she found herself face to face with brown eyes and blonde hair and a smile so pretty Natalya could have wept. She couldn't help but let a cry escape her lips as she uncharacteristically threw her arms around the woman in front of her. Tatyana looked so different. After all, it had been far too many years since they had last been face to face. The woman was pushing into her mid sixties at this point but her beauty still remained, tempered by her age and giving her the look of an ageless goddess straight from the old paintings of times past.  
"Nata! Nata, oh Nata. You haven't changed at all! My dear Belarus!" Kisses were pressed to the still awe struck Nation's face in peppered flurries as she let Tatyana look her over up and down. She in turn did the same, taking in how the woman had matured since all that time ago. She was striking, her hair cut even shorter than it had been in the 30's which that in itself was shocking. She had always been a rebellious girl after all. It suited her just the same.  
"Taty, Taty. _Vy zdes'._ You are here."  
"Of course I am here, you silly child. Ah, I can finally be the one to call you child! You look like you could be my child's child now, you know? How peculiar-- But come! Come along, Toris and Mister Alfred are waiting for us to arrive! _Heta byŭ sapraŭdny klopataŭ , kab znajsci vas!_ " Taking a firm hold of Natalya's had Tatyana started to tug the mentally reeling Representative through the crowd. Natalya couldn't even find words to say, just letting herself be taken through this strange world as she stared at the back of Tatyana and let a small smile creep onto her face. It wasn't long until she found out where Tatyana was leading her. A towering building, honestly still not the tallest in the city but none the less impressive, that she could clearly tell was important.  
"They're waiting for us on the top floor. You're going to love the view, Nata. It really is spectacular! Like nothing you will have ever seen before!" Natalya did not respond verbally but could find herself thinking to herself. None of this was like anything she had seen before. Absolutely none of it. This was the economical center of the New World's biggest superpower. Here was was in this new age with new... new _everything_. It was absolutely mind-boggling even to someone as old as Natalya. So now pushing into the bustling reception center of the skyscraper and rushing to the elevator she could really let it all sink it. All the letters sent and nights spent discussing were finally coming back. The year 1955 seemed like a dream now, the events passed over merely a troublesome nightmare in the face of this bright and bold future. When they reached the very top of the tower Natalya was met with a wind whipping her face and-- God, Tatyana had been right.  
For the life of her, Natalya couldn't remember a single time that she had ever been up this high into the air. The spread of the city and the skyline was stupor inducing and only one thing was keeping her grounded. The two men standing with their backs to the women in the elevator. They were both blonde, one a couple inches taller than the other. The man on the left was leaning on the railing of the balcony, his head topped with a simple black newsboy cap. He was wearing more formal attire than the other younger looking man to his right-- a white dress shirt with a black pinstripe vest. He had on black slacks with standard dress shoes and upon turning around Natalya was quite surprised to see that the young man had rather pretty blue-green eyes with yellow rings around his pupils. Was that Alfred?  
"Tatyana! Welcome back, ma'am. This must be Natalya?" It was then that the other blond turned, quickly and on one heel, to face the two women exiting the elevator. His own hair was shorter than the other man's and messier from what she could tell. There was a wayward cowlick sprouting up from his part line and he currently had black rimmed glasses perched on his nose, magnifying his startlingly blue eyes slightly. The second he saw the two of them a dazzling grin broke out across his face, showing off blue braces and pearly teeth. He was wearing a simple dress shirt of a pale blue that was wrinkled and had several buttons buttoned wrong. He had on blue jeans and boots which contrasted starkly with his more well dressed counterpart. Natalya could only wonder who this guy must have been. If he was a care giver he was definitely out of dress-code.  
"Hey! You're finally here. Lithuania just went that way, something about wanting to give us some space? Iunno, he's sorta weird. You're Belarus right?" The shorter blond, the one with the braces, was loud. Natalya was stunned slightly, wondering why someone like that had ended up being a caretaker. Alfred, or so she thought he was Alfred, seemed charmingly mild mannered and calm. Even nudging the more boisterous blond with a testing but gentle look that silently told him to be quieter.  
"Yes, this is her! This is so exciting. I've waited so long to finally introduce you two-- Natalya? This is Alfred Jones!" When Tatyana gestured to the brace-faced blond in the messy shirt and boots th Nation almost grimaced. She had to be joking... That was Alfred? That was the United States of America? Looking over to the older man Natalya gave her own caregiver a quick questioning glance. Before Tatyana could say anything Alfred stepped forward, fist raised and out of sheer reflex Natalya flinched and raised an arm to strike back. The boy recoiled a the gesture, obviously confused as the other blond grabbed him by the shoulder and tugged him back.  
"Oh-- Nata, don't fret. It was just a greeting. Ah, cabbages... My apologies, Alfred. You'll have to be patient, okay? She just got here a couple hours ago after all." Alfred lowered his hand, still confused, but simply nodded and stayed silent then. Tatyana gently rubbed Natalya's forearm as the young woman quickly clasped her hands in front of her and lowered her gaze. It was then that the other man stepped forward, hand extended in a more familiar gesture of shaking hands.  
"It really is an honor to meet you, Miss Arlovskaya. I've heard an awful lot about you from Tatyana. My name is Daniel. Daniel Hopper. Welcome to America!" Daniel's handshake was firm and his smile softer than Alfred's grin had been. Before he released Natalya's hand her raised her knuckles to his mouth and gave a quick to kiss to them out of respect. She was far more impressed with this man than she was Alfred at the moment. Surely the Representative of America couldn't be this bumbling teenager with metal in his mouth and his shirt on wrong. There was no way. This had to be a joke. Daniel Hopper had to be the real America. No doubt they would reveal it all as a joke. That Daniel was really Alfred and Alfred was Daniel. When she looked back to Tatyana the woman made a little side mark in Belarusian that Daniel was surely a ladies man and that Nata should watch out, but nothing about any ruse. This was real. Oh, no.  
"I have all the arrangements filled out, we'll be staying in a pent suite here in the city courtesy of the government. Toris as well, if he'd care to join us perhaps." The statement was said with little bite but a healthy dose of fair teasing as Daniel raised a dark blonde eyebrow up and peeked across the way to where Toris was standing, leaned over the railing and peering down the dizzying way to the ground far below them. He looked up upon hearing his name and stood at attention. Daniel raised a hand and motioned for the brunet to come over.  
"Of course the lovely ladies of the group will be residing in the main parts of the pent. Us toms will be joining you for only few civil things, so don't worry about running around indecently. It'll be just you and the skyline to testify to it." Natalya merely tilted her head at the jesting of Daniel while Toris pulled into his place at her side and Tatyana let out a laugh. Even Alfred let out a snort of laughter at this which Daniel rewarded with a whap in the back of the head with his cap.  
"But first, who's up for lunch? I could hardly get breakfast down between trying to convince this oaf out of bed and making all the last minute touches. There's a great joint just about a block away that has great subs." Tatyana linked her arm with Natalya and Toris silently folded his arms behind his back and Alfred shouldered Daniel with a huff and a wolfish smile as the man tugged his hat back on and straightened his tie. Natalya could still only gawk at Alfred dumbly, still unsure what to make of the fact that this boy was the legendary United States. How bizarre.  
The fifteen minute walk to the place Daniel had mentioned was filled with talking and questions and the awkward touching that kept happening between Natalya and Toris. Alfred was talking, she noticed, but she couldn't focus on what he was saying between Toris' arm rubbing against her own uncomfortably as he tried to walk side by side with her on the cramped and busy sidewalk. Tatyana was messing with her braid as well she noted, and by the time the woman had undone it Natalya was already absorbed in listening to Daniel talking. He was easily strolling backwards, hands in his pockets and his stride casual as he wove past people smoothly without even looking back. He was telling her about something but she didn't understand half the words he was using without Tatyana leaning forward from behind her and translating the best she could. This only made Toris lean in closer to hear what she was saying as well and Natalya could only ponder over when she had gotten taller than the brunet. She hadn't thought over how tall she had gotten but she could only conclude that she was somewhere around 170 centimeters. Toris had to be over ten centimeters shorter than she was. It was weird to think about for too long.  
The stop at the restaurant was pleasant and Daniel proved to be multi-talented and extremely entertaining, even to Natalya who did not quite get even the simplest humors. Toris seemed to just laugh along for the sake of laughing along but several jokes told genuinely made him snicker. They carried on like this for a couple hours at most before making their way back to the streets of New York. Tatyana ended up trying to get Alfred and Natalya to talk, remarking about how he was being unusually shy and shouldn't be intimidated by the Belarusian. He responded indignantly and Natalya ended up catching Daniel's gaze and saw him roll his eyes comically with a smile and a shrug. She held back a smile at this and merely bumped her arm against Tatyana's lightly.  
The pent flat they were staying in was sizable with two remotely distinctive sections that joined into a large central common area. Natalya found herself enjoying the housing supplied for her. It was a nice change of pace. Large but not cold and definitely not small as things had once been. It was just enough to make Natalya feel she had room to roam but not suffocate her or make her feel lost. She liked the pent and she stayed there for a good amount of time. She accompanied Tatyana places and sometimes in the early hours when she would find herself watching the sun rise of the city Daniel would join her and they would talk little but listen much. She grew closer to Alfred over time, although all the sudden attention she gave him seemed to be a bit repelling. At times she would even stop by the automobile shop that Toris had started to work in and would merely watch him work on the vehicles brought in until lunch when he would buy her a pastry and give her it without anything said and they would just sit there and eat before he went back to work. The times were good and the years new and Natalya felt a bit better about being in America more and more as time went on. It wasn't what she had thought it would be but it was better than she could have ever asked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho ho HOLY SHIT-- I took forever to get this up and even then it feels rushed and disorganized. We're introducing new characters though so that's always fun. Natalya sure has a hard time making up her mind doesn't she? I guess we all would if we were in her position huh?   
> As always! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and a big shout out to the people who kept me going through this grueling process. A casual reminder to check out my newest multichapter fanfiction Dust to Dust on Ao3 and FF.net as well as swinging by my Wattpad account, ShawMichael, to check out my latest and greatest story Populi De Magi Magica! Thanks for reading, once more, and addio!

**Author's Note:**

> *Da Pabačennia  
> \- "Farewell", "Goodbye"
> 
> My emotional dedication to APH Belarus knows no bounds. This is meant to show that Natalya isn't just some incest obsessed crazy girl with no feelings or motives and give a bit of a look at Belarusian, and eventually Belo-Russian, history. Expect a lot of flashback sequences!  
> The story will be uploaded at a hopefully steady pace. And as always, I hope you enjoyed!


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